


Quiet

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25400974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Follows the episode "Baby it's cold outside." Charles proves a welcome distraction as Klinger worries whether his hearing will return.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Kudos: 7





	Quiet

Klinger was convalescing in his own bed. A surge of fighting had sent its attendant influx of wounded to the 4077th and every bed in post op was occupied. This arrangement suited Charles Emerson Winchester III, who had been the last to learn about the Corporal’s injury. He entered without knocking and flinched internally at the fear he saw in familiar eyes.

Not that fear kept Klinger from putting on a cheery front. “Hiya, Major! I guess they told you I can’t hear, so I hope you didn’t come for one of our famous back-and-forths. If I can’t hear you, I can’t lose!” Charles ignored this to perform a cursory examination. The others were quite right; there was nothing to do but wait and see if his hearing returned.

Well, that and one other thing.

He held a finger to his lips to indicate that Klinger should hold his tongue, still busy babbling. Winchester knew this hyper-verbosity was a way to cover up his fear that total silence was his new normal.

Klinger cocked his head, but he didn’t shut up. “Why, sir? I can’t hear me anyway!”

Charles held up the pad he used to make case notes. [ I don’t want the others to hear. ] he wrote, showing it to Klinger.

“Hear what?” Klinger was louder than usual as he strove to hear himself.

Charles repeated the gesture, wrote [Do you trust me, Max? ]

“Of course. With my life.”

[ Then do shut up. ]

Klinger made a show of zipping his lips. Satisfied, Charles wrote one last thing. [ I wish I could remove the uncertainty you’re facing. What I can do, however, is take your mind off it. ]

Sitting the pad aside, the taller man went to his knees. Klinger sat up, curious about what he was up to, but Charles waved him back down. He knew that Klinger would probably panic, but at least he could make it a  _ pleasurable _ sort of panic compared to the rising current he must have felt following the injury. 

He knew a little of the Corporal’s background, knew that he was probably more accustomed to rough hands than gentle ones. He set out to show him how very gentle he could be. Pushing his shirt high on his chest, he slowly, slowly undid his belt, envious at the number of notches needed to keep it in place (one had to be thin to pull off couture). Do you trust me? he’d asked and he was pleased to see that Klinger hadn’t been lying; Winchester knew that he wouldn’t have stood up to a similar test so well. Aside from drawing a breath that bordered on a hiss, Klinger had kept quiet. 

Since this tryst was impromptu, Winchester hadn’t been certain how long he’d have to work to get Klinger into the proper state. Injury or illness often impeded arousal. Prepared to be patient, he took the opportunity to map the body he’d been watching - both in dresses and in fatigues. Hard work had yielded lean muscle. Winchester didn’t know if it was the heels that had done it, but Klinger’s ass almost had  _ him _ breaking the no talking rule. He believed Klinger’s hearing would return because the alternative was too horrible, and he intended to tell him how beautiful he was when he could come up behind him, pull him tight against him, and speak the words into his neck. Until then, he wrote the phrase into his skin with a light touch. 

Besides being beautiful, Klinger was incredibly sensitive. Winchester didn’t know if this was the other side of being a creature that loved to touch things or a result of going too long in an untouched state, but he was enjoying it either way. Running his hand down the man’s body had him arching up into his touch, wordlessly begging. It made it easy to know when he was doing something Klinger liked; he could no more hide his reactions than he could make himself taller. 

The only thing the surgeon wished was that he could ask about preferences. So far, he thought he’d been a fine distraction, but given the day he’d had, he thought Klinger deserved more than mere release. Holding up a finger to say, “wait a minute,” he retrieved the pad he’d been writing on and pulled the smaller man into his embrace. Klinger came easily, eyes darker than usual, skin pleasantly flushed. Winchester didn’t stop touching him even when he wrote, a little shakily, [I want this to be good for you. Can you tell me how you would like me to go about this?]

Klinger almost giggled; it was so formal, so  _ Winchester _ . And the use of “can” instead of “will” was Winchester taking care of him, being careful not to ask for more than he felt up to. It was very sweet. But he sensed there was a lot of heat under the sweetness. Talk about a killer combination. 

He grabbed the pad and sat it aside. “You,” he said, trying to be quiet. “Just you.” 

Charles shook his head and mouthed back, “You.” He tapped Klinger’s poor, injured ears. “This is for  _ you _ .” 

Klinger stretched out, giving him access to anything and everything, hands thrown behind his head. And through the very best of it, he stayed (mostly) quiet. When he drifted off to sleep Charles promised him that he could be loud next time - and that he’d  _ hear _ it. The alternative was that Klinger would be sent home and, having touched him, he couldn’t bear that. 

“Get well, Max,” he whispered. “So I can make you fall in love with me.” 

End! 


End file.
